


Eccedentesiast

by ElegantCrimes



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryan tops obviously, Ryan’s a model, Ryden, but Brendon isn’t having it, he has a drug issue, is great, its angsty, it’s gay, ryans an asshole what’s new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantCrimes/pseuds/ElegantCrimes
Summary: Eccedentesiast,Someone who fakes their smile to repress their pain.-Ryan’s one of America’s sexiest models, he gets paid to smile even when it’s the last thing he wants to do.Brendon is hired to help with his drug problem.





	1. Make Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First chapter, woo. If you enjoy this please give it kudos, or even a comment. It’s appreciated.

They say when you fall in love, the stars align. The earth seems to stop spinning, and you are the only two people in the world. But, I say, believing in love is like believing in some higher power. It gives us hope, though I use the term ‘us’ very loosely. I don’t believe in that shit. Even if it were real, it would be like searching for one small ass needle in one large ass haystack. Nearly impossible. Now, I don’t want to burst everyone’s bubble. ‘Ryan just because you’ve never been in love doesn’t mean it’s not real’. You’d be right about one thing, I’ve never been in love. But I do know that if it’s true, that love exists in some aspect, that it’s a lie. People will tell you that they love you, but eventually they will leave. Just like everyone else. Nobody stays. And you could contradict me and say ‘love dies. Though it doesn’t always last doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist’. But arguing with me over this topic is like arguing wether you need your heart to live, or if the sky is blue. If love is people coming into your life just to leave it again, then sure I’ve been loved and have loved, too many times to count. But, it surely can’t be your mother telling you she will always love you, then walking out the door with her suitcase, having no intention on taking you away from some monster of a man. She carried herself away from an abusive husband, yet she left her eight year old son with an abusive father. I’ll never forget her useless meaning of the word love.  
—  
I stare at the thin white lines of coke laid out on the glass table in front of me. It takes me nearly five seconds to realize that the world still exists. And I’m thinking this while rolling up a crisp twenty to divulge in my acts of being famous. One intake of air through my nose and the white lines disappear, then I’m left staring at my shiny shoes under the table. I can feel my nose tingling from the sensation of high quality drugs, and my heart rate picks up from the rush. I suppose being the sexiest man alive has it’s perks. I’m privileged because of my looks, maybe that’s one thing to thank my sorry excuse of parents for. Thank you, mother and father, immensely. I laugh at my thoughts, earning me odd looks from my friends. Which really, they aren’t friends. Unless friends are the people who talk evil of you once you exit the room. Sometimes I don’t even have to be out of ear shot for them to talk shit. I like to think they are just jealous. Which they probably are, or maybe I’m just that bad of a person. Either way.

I throw back a swig of whiskey hoping to be feeling numb within seconds. When I’m numb I don’t have to think or feel. To me the world is just melting and to the world I’m just fucked up. Which obviously the world isn’t melting, even though I wish it would. Nope, I’m just fucked up. That’s the only truth. To an outsider I’m who they want to be. What they aspire to look like, what they have started to act like in hopes to one day achieve my status. Living like me. I have news for them, the Ryan Ross they see displayed on tv, the one all over the most recent magazines, is just some broken man. He doesn’t know how to live and sometimes forgets how to breathe. He pretends to be someone different, yet he doesn’t pretend at all. He’s stripped down and raw, yet so secretive. He’s not someone to idolize. And I would tell them all this myself if my manager wouldn’t rip my dick off. I’m the most rising model, everyone is in love with me. Or at least the image they get of me. A version that has been edited time and time again. I’m the man parents hope their son turns out to be, they might want to rethink that. My parents didn’t even want me.  
—  
I sigh looking at Z “the press didn’t even see, Z. You always get worked up over nothing.” I roll my eyes at my manager and readjust the sunglasses over my eyes. It’s too bright. “You’re damn lucky and you don’t even realize it. What, are you purposely trying to ruin your image? Christ, Ryan. You look like absolute shit. If you keep this up I’m going to have to do something about it and trust me, you won’t like it.” She points an accusing finger at me and I groan “fuck okay. You’re such a joykill, I’ll keep your precious version of me precious. Don’t you worry, you can trust me. I’ve got it all under control” I give her a sly smile and walk out smoothly. At least I think I did that smoothly. I’m too numb to notice. Its not my fault that her tool of a husband saw me tumbling into the streets. He said I could have died, I said maybe that was my intention. I guess it’s easier to blame my failed suicide attempt on drugs rather than my depression. But it gets me in a lot of shit with my manager.

Turns out I didn’t have it under control, because now Z shows up standing in front of me with an irritated look on her face, actually there’s like three of her. I laugh not knowing which one to look at. One Z is enough, but three of them? Now I’m utterly fucked. Or maybe it’s just the drugs- yeah the drugs. Wait- why is everything going black? The fuck-

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

I open my eyes and yup- too quickly. I close them again and then slowly, slowly, re-open them. It’s all too bright. I look to my left to see what the beeping is and sure enough, it’s a heart rate monitor. Great. I try sitting up to rip these fucking IV’s out of my arm but a hand comes out of nowhere and pushes my chest back into the bed. “I told you, Ryan. You won’t like these consequences.” My manager shakes her head and that’s when I notice a man around my age, maybe younger standing next to her, looking like he’s- pitying me? He must know who I am. I don’t need pity. “Who the fuck is that-“ I start but I’m cut off by Z “this is Brendon. He’s going to be watching you from now on. And if he so much as sees a joint in your hands, he’s to call me immediately. And if I do get a call Ryan, if I get a call, you will be fucked.” This is absolutely ridiculous “Z, babe. I promise I don’t need some wanker watching after me. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.” I glance at him and then back to Z hoping she will tell this shit head that we don’t need him but I should have known better “don’t try to weasel out of this Ryan. Brendon, make sure you to keep an eye on him.” She points a finger at the kid and he nods “understood.” And of course, fucking obedient. I wonder how much she is paying him. Probably not much, everyone wants to get a chance to hang out with me. He sits down and takes a look at my resting body “being up so close to a model, must be flattering.” I muse at him but he just scoffs “actually I was wondering how someone that looks this shitty could ever make it as a model. Guess you have really put yourself at rock bottom” his lips purse into a thin line and I huff. Dick.


	2. A Day In The Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boundaries are a serious thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Pray For The W!cked is a bop and a half. Here's this.

Boundaries are a serious thing. I find it sad that some people- Brendon- were never taught such an important guideline, honestly. Though I suppose it's not his fault for being paid to not only watch after me, but, to move into my guest room until I get "better" as Z so kindly informed me. This is my house, so forgive me if I don’t fully understand why a complete stranger gets to move in with me. For all I know this kid could steal from me, I've never even heard of him before. He could have said no, except if I were him I would have accepted Z's offer as well. Getting paid to live in some celebrity's multi-billionaire home. That’s the life for some nobody such as himself. I wonder where Z even found him, the internet I assume. Great, if I'm murdered in my sleep you know who did it. 

 

I groan and lean my head back as Brendon sits across from me, literally reading a newspaper. "you could at least be amusing if you're going to live under my roof." I roll my eyes and pick my head back up. "okay, dad. Sorry." He looks over the newspaper with an amused grin, prick. "it's daddy to you.' I return his grin and add in a wink. Maybe I find pride in making him feel uncomfortable. He rolls his eyes and looks back at the paper. "but seriously, how old are you? If anyone is a dad here, it's you. You're reading the black and white. Who even does that anymore?" I'm being honest, I didn’t even know they existed anymore. He acts out a faux gasp and puts the paper down dramatically "Ryan! You mean to tell me you're the one who has been living under a fucking rock? Or maybe you're just invested in your looks and wealth to realize there are in fact other people in the world that enjoy different things." He looks at me flatly. "okay, jesus. I realize there are other people in the world. I just think newspapers are too old fashioned. Why read something void of color when you don’t have to?" I mutter, he has managed to make me feel stupid. Usually when someone talks to me like that I get pissed, not this time. "you mean I should read the magazines you pose for? I'd rather not. Newspapers don’t show rich playboys who haven't done a hard day's work in their life." 

 

I have never considered myself a 'playboy' the term just doesn’t sit well with me. All the articles say it, 'Ryan Ross, one of America's sexiest playboys...' The world looks at me and sees something I have yet to figure out. Fame, sure. Money, sure. But looks? I don’t see it. My skins too pale and my limbs are too thin. My hair is shaggy, too long. My fingers are the size of fucking Texas and my legs are literal noodles. I have dark rings under my eyes, thanks to insomnia. I do drugs so I don’t have to be human. I don’t have to feel human. My father completely despises me and my mother doesn’t care enough to see how I am doing. I'm sure she's seen what I've turned into. Imagine how that conversation would go... "hey, Ryan, it's your mother, Danielle.' She would say with the hint of a smile on her lips "who? I think you have the wrong person. I don’t have a mother." I would reply dryly and hang up. She would just want my money. That’s what everyone wants from me. It's all I'm good for. I'm talentless unless you consider trying on random designer's clothes and walking down a runway a talent. And, if you did, I would still be talentless because I can't even do that. 

 

"please, don’t act like you know me. You know the person displayed in front of your eyes on paper. The man with the looks but not the passion. The one with the drug issues, who doesn’t act half his age and spends his money on fatuous things. Like fancy cars or high price drugs. Voss water or some shiny Rolex. But, no matter how fucked up I may seem, you're the one here to help me and you're failing miserably. Because you talk your shit and give me those impossible looks, and all I can think of is snorting a line to get the courage to kick you in your dick." I stand up from my position on my armchair and straighten out my suit jacket. "you want to live in my house? Fine. Just don’t forget why you are here. Because the sooner you do your job, the sooner we can part ways." I walk give him a nod and walk off to my room, he's impossible. He doesn’t know me. 

 

I look in my top dresser drawer and dig through it, I could use a hit of something right now. Anything. I search in my vases and under my mattress but there's nothing. They have taken the only thing that makes me feel sane and made sure I never got a taste of it again. I sit on my bed and take a deep breath, one-two-three- my shoes! I get up and go to my closet picking up a pair of my Tom Ford boots tipping it upside as a small baggie of white powder drops into my hand. I smile in victory, take that Brendon. I rush to my bedside table and pour it out onto the table and cutting myself a thick line. I quickly snort the line and tip my head back feeling the rush I've craved. I could quit if I wanted to, I'm sure of it. It's only an addiction if you can't kick it, I control the coke, the coke doesn’t control me. I gather the rest and put it back into the baggie hiding it back in my boot and putting it away. They didn’t think to look there before, why would they now? I walk back out of my closet and plop onto my bed with a satisfied sigh- then there's a knock on my door. 

 

"what?" I call out and then here the door open, I didn’t lock it? Stupid. I could have been walked in on, I'll keep that in mind for the next time. "sure, come right in why don't you?" I sit up to see Brendon leaning against my door frame. The man is extremely sexy, I'll give him that. "I wanted to apologize. You're right, I don’t know you. But I'm willing to get there. If you truly don’t think you are the man they explain in the papers, I want you to prove it." How generous of him. "listen, Brendon. I don’t have to prove anything to you. You are the one who is naïve enough to believe everything the world has to say. You act so high and mighty but you're just like everyone else, eating out of the press's hands." I scoff "it's sad." I give him an unamused look and sigh. "I don’t eat out of the hands of the press. But you have done nothing to show me you aren't who they say you are. Maybe you don’t have to prove anything to me, but, it seems like you have to prove it to yourself." He shrugs as if he makes all the sense. 

 

I ponder over it for a moment and then give him a nod, this isn't for him, this is for me. I'm not my father and even less like my mother. The world will see Ryan Ross isn't just some toy they can wind up. Fuck, is this optimism? Since when I have been this positive. "I expect you want us to get to know each other and all that nonsense?" I bite my lip and he smiles. Of course.


	3. Help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel guilty.

I feel guilty. 

Every time I walk into my closet and look at the single boot that holds the one thing that can satisfy my cravings. The one thing that can still my shaking hands or numb the feeling of being alone. But, of course Ryan Ross doesn’t settle down. And, how could he ever feel lonely? He has thousands of people who worship him. 

They don’t realize that I would change all this fame and money for one person that can provide love and affection. The love they talk about in books. The love I don’t believe in. It sounds cliché, I know. But, when I'm numb I don’t think like this. 

When I'm sober, such as now, I feel scared. The world is cold, everyone for themselves. No matter what. I think it's all fucked up in the grand scheme of things. The people who talk to me only associate with me for my wealth, that's all I'm worth. 

Anyways, I feel guilty because I used to be this small fragile boy. Before I sold myself to every magazine or fashion designer willing to buy me. Before I resulted to those stupid parties Jon would drag me to, where I found out what cocaine felt like. Or, what the rush of adrenaline being crushed between so many bodies at once felt like... before my mom decided I wasn’t good enough to be fit into her new life. Before my dad realized I was the perfect punching bag. 

I was a fairly normal kid, I had dreams. I was going to be in a band, a successful one too. I would be the front man, I remember taking the toy guitar I had gotten for Christmas and standing in front of the mirror with the poorly applied eyeliner ringed around my eyes, my hair tousled into different directions with a full genuine smile on my face, Blink-182 blaring in the background as I made dramatic moves to play that stupid piece of plastic that only had three settings, I never used them. I was only seven, then. 

Then I turned eight and my mom left. Of course, I was hurt, but, mostly confused. When I turned fifteen I started babysitting my neighbor's son, Jackson. He was five years old and always full of energy. I loved the kid and overall enjoyed watching him. Then one day his dad Adam came home drunk... I was vulnerable and young at this point so, he took my virginity. I had told him to stop, please, your son is in the other room. The tears were heavily streaming down my face as he kept pounding into me, not listening to a word I was saying. He paid me well that night, enough for me to buy first guitar, which was an electric Rogue Rocketeer that costed most of my savings. 

I would always go over to Spencer's to play it, though. If my father ever found out I had a guitar he wouldn't take it easily- which he didn't by the way. He saw it hidden in my closet, and smashed it near my leg, close enough to give me scars from the pieces hitting my leg just right. He demanded to know how I afforded it and I told him how Adam had raped me, hot tears working their way to my neck. He punched me in my temple, spitting on me, telling me I was just an attention whore and if Adam really had done what I said, I deserved it. He was probably right, anyways. 

So, I started giving myself to anyone who wanted it, sometimes getting confused with a hooker. I didn’t mind the money. Most of the men told me how gorgeous I was, that I could be a big star one day, and if I ever made itbig, not to forget them. Well, here I am on the cover of most magazines and I still remember them, guess they really made an impression on me. Each one of them are probably looking at the Cosmopolitan bragging to the bartender about how they once screwed me, good for them, honestly. 

I didn’t notice Brendon was sitting in front of me, on his knees as I sat on my bed with mine brought to my chest. I didn’t even notice I was crying until the pads of the man's thumbs wiped the wet streaks off my face with a slight frown on his face. 

"why are you crying?" He asked softly as I sniffed and shook my head "nothing, don’t worry about it." I mumbled and looked anywhere but his eyes, he's one of them, only here for my money. "Ryan, seriously. Talk to me, maybe it will help." He offers with a slight shrug to one shoulder, and I only gave him silence for nearly a minute before I licked my lips "you just- you wouldn’t understand." And, he wouldn’t. That much I'm sure of. "try me." Brendon raises an eyebrow and I scoff. 

"you're not a therapist Brendon, and just because you're getting paid to be here doesn't mean you have to listen to my problems, okay?" I roll my eyes, hoping he will get up and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brings a hand up to my cheek and rubs his thumb over the skin shaking his head "I'm not just here for the money, I'm here for you, whether you'd like to believe it or not. God, not everyone wants Ryan Ross' money." He brings his hand back from my face and I don't think before grabbing it and hold back tears "Brendon I just... I don’t want to feel alone, not tonight, not ever. And I don't want someone being paid to be my friend, or my fucking drug keeper to tell me they aren't here for my money, because fuck- Brendon, you are. And that’s all anyone wants from me." I drop his hand to frustratingly wipe away my tears and put my head in my knees. 

"I'm not going anywhere. You aren't alone tonight. I promise you, and I want to be your friend. Beyond the money, Ryan. You're worth way more than some fucking piece of paper." He gets up and for a second, I think he's going to walk out while he can, but I feel the bed dip next to me and before I lift my head up I feel a pair of arms rap around my frame. I look up at him and he gives me a small smile, that's all it takes for me to lean my head against his shoulder and break. And, I feel safe. Against this man I barely know, I feel secure. 

Brendon has managed to break down my walls, if only for the night.


	4. Got To Get You Into My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up I was taught that having one moment of weakness meant you’d never be strong. I was told that men aren’t weak. The Ross men, especially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowow, it's really been a hot minute. this chapter sucks, no lie. I had high hopes (no pun intended) for this story. hopefully it goes uphill from here my friends.

Growing up I was taught that having one moment of weakness meant you’d never be strong. I was told that men aren’t weak. The Ross men, especially. 

Whenever I cried I would be told I was a disappointment, a faggot, all by my father. So I stopped telling him how I felt, stopped crying in front of anyone and well... eventually stopped crying altogether. I didn’t want to be weak. But, I realized something yesterday... 

My father was weak. A weak excuse for a husband, for a father. Not only that, he was an addict. An alcoholic. I never wanted to be weak in all the wrong ways. Last night, telling Brendon how I felt, that wasn’t weak. It might have been the hardest thing I've had to do. 

I can’t blame my father for my actions, I know that. But, some part of me wants to. You'd think having had a father like mine I'd prevent myself from obtaining his bad habits... obviously, I didn’t. I think I wanted to know why he would choose drugs and alcohol over his family. I think I needed to know. 

I had my first drink when I was sixteen. I was at a party with my friend at the time, Jonathan Walker. I decided as soon as I took a sip that it was disgusting. I didn’t get hooked on the taste, though. My body got hooked on the feeling. I had a few too many and I didn’t have anybody telling me enough was enough. Instead, I had people cheering me on. Go, Ryan. You’re becoming the man you never wanted to be. 

That was only the beginning. A few weeks later Jon took me to another party. That’s when he introduced me to the one and only Gabriel Saporta. Total flirt. He had access to any drug you could mention. That night he had cocaine, I remember him saying ‘don’t knock it until you try it, Ryan Ross’ and since I wasn’t a hundred percent opposed to it, I did. I felt on top of the world. Like nothing could ever harm me again... or until the drugs wore off. 

Except, eventually they did. So I called up Saporta and got some to stock me up for a short while. Since then, I haven’t really stopped. 

I believe in some ways I'm just like my father, others not so much. It's hard to say if I'd choose my family over drugs because I'm not sure there’s a family to choose. I don’t think there will ever be one... 

__ 

Brendon ended up sleeping next to me the whole night, it was nice. Having a friend that was trying to help me instead of encourage me, even if he was getting paid. He said it wasn’t about the money, I'm not sure why or if I believed him. 

I woke up and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Brendon and grabbing a casual outfit from my wardrobe and setting it on my bed, expecting him to be gone by then, it’s nearly noon. Then I head to take a shower. 

I made sure the water was super-hot before getting in. What sucks is showers are the best place to think, even at times you only want to shut your brain down. 

Such as right now... 

I'm thinking of big lips and brown hair. Who has- oh fuck. Nono, nope. I cannot be thinking about a straight man. But, who’s to say he’s straight? Dammit, it's not like I can walk out and be like ‘oh hey, Brendon... do you like dick?’ 

I wouldn’t go there even if he is. As hot as he is, he still practically works for me... right? Yes, what am I saying? Why am I even thinking about this? Not anymore... lalala. 

Don’t fuck this one up, Ryan. 

But seriously, he’s very attractive. And there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging beauty. To an extent, I suppose. I mean if you slept next to a man who looked like Brendon all night (gay or not) I think you’d be having these same thoughts. 

Changing the shower to cold, I try to stray my mind away from those thoughts... fail. 

__ 

Walking back into the room I refuse to ever let what just took place in my mind ten minutes ago leave my mind. Is it really even that big of a deal? 

That’s when I realize it kinda is... because Brendon is sitting on my bed fully awake looking me up and down and- fuck, I should have gotten dressed in the bathroom. Fuck me and my ability to be prepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... I told you it sucked.


	5. Happiness Is A Warm Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I knew I was gay two weeks before my thirteenth birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, look at this. Two chapters in a span of 24 hours.

I knew I was gay two weeks before my thirteenth birthday.  
I had a friend named Ryland. He invited me over to have a sleepover (my first one without Spencer). I snuck out of my house while my dad lay passed out, drunk on the couch. I waited outside fifteen minutes before him and his mother were supposed to pick me up, just in case they showed up and decided to meet my father.  
Once they picked me up and we arrived at his house, we did the typical teenage boy thing and played some video game. I lost nearly three games trying to figure out why I didn’t want to look away from his face. Then it hit me like a shit ton of bricks and I went as red as one person can. I told him I was feeling tired and that it wasn’t necessary for me to eat dinner, I wasn’t hungry.  
That night I laid in his bed restless. I denied the facts for months. Then I got my first girlfriend and automatically knew it wasn’t for me. Breaking it off as soon as I could so no hearts were broken. Women are so fragile.  
My first kiss with a boy was at age fourteen. It was quick in a game of truth or dare and he looked uncomfortable. Meanwhile, I liked it. Then comes what happened with Adam. Even if it was completely forced I can’t deny I admired his looks before what happened. It's almost funny, because now he disgusts me. I wonder whatever happened to him.   
I’ve (almost) always gotten any man I've wanted. So, you can probably understand why I'm trying very hard to not want Brendon in this moment... very hard.  
“sorry, thought you’d be gone by now” I scratched the back of my neck and grabbed my clothes off the bed. “uh- no worries. I just woke up and was trying to gather my thoughts. I failed... don’t know why I said that. I’m just gonna go” he stands up and adverts his eyes away from me. Now he’s silently standing there and I’m assuming he wants me to say something.  
“right, yeah...” I nod and he looks at me, taking a step closer “I mean- unless I have a reason not to?” what the fuck am I supposed to say to that?   
I highly doubt either of us have any amount of restraint at the moment “I-” there’s a knock on my room door followed by “Mr. Ross, Ms. Berg is here to see you.”  
I take a step back and clear my throat “tell her one minute, thank you.”  
I turn to Brendon, probably looking like a deer caught in headlights “you should probably go now..” he slowly nods like it’s exactly what he wants to do and exactly the opposite at the same time.  
Once he slips out I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and quickly get dressed, deciding not to piss Z off today.  
__  
“ah, Z. Long time no see, why have you come to visit me in this rehab I like to call home?” I smile and sit in the chair across from the couch. My mind traveling back to the argument I had with Brendon here, last night.  
Speaking of the man himself, he walks out and sits on the couch next to Z. Intently staring at me. Smiling, Z turns to me and folds her hands together. “just wanted to see how my favorite star is doing.” of course, she’s being unreasonably nice because I'm sober.  
“Just fine, thank you. I find this comical since this is the first visit we’ve had. You didn’t care to see how your ‘favorite star’ was doing a few days ago. Why see now?” she sighs and tucks her hair behind her right ear. “Ryan... I just wanted to let you know that uh... Dan is back in town” she doesn’t dare to look me in the eyes as she says that name.  
Instantly my mood has deflated. That stupid prick- “Who’s Dan?” Brendon asks and I bite my lip, looking to Z so she can explain. “He’s Ryan’s ex of sorts.”  
I laugh “of sorts? He was the only other person than Spencer I've ever trusted. The one guy I expected not to cheat and he went and did that. There is no reason to bring that name up, Elizabeth.” I stand up and start off to my room “he wants to see you.” she says and I stop walking.  
"that’s not funny” I stand still expecting her to laugh, she doesn’t. “I wish it were a joke, Ryan. But, he really does want to. He won’t stop harassing me for your number.” she sighs. Shaking my head, I turn around “I refuse to see him. Why would he even care to see me? It wasn’t my choice to cheat, obviously I wasn’t enough for him.” I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. No, I will not cry for him again. Not ever. Ross men aren’t weak. Ross men aren’t-  
“I’ve tried telling him, multiple times. He won’t reason with me. Maybe telling him yourself would make him leave you alone.” She stands up. “If he doesn’t want to talk to him, why make him?” Brendon cuts in. That was brave, usually Z doesn’t take personal input from anyone. She doesn’t seem to mind when Brendon does it, though. Maybe because she finds him adorable. Like a puppy.  
“Honey, I know you live in this world full of gummy bears and lollipops. But, in this world, reality? It’s a little different. There are no raindrops on roses, Brendon.” She starts to walk towards the front door “shoot me a message if you want his number, Ryan.” And then she’s gone. Like maybe the news she just sprung on me shouldn’t matter. Maybe it shouldn’t, actually. But it does. Because coming from a guy who doesn’t believe in love, or anything related, I thought I could have had that with Dan. It taught me never let down my guard.  
“I’m going to lie down, uh… yeah” I walk into my room and close my door. Sliding down it, I pinch my fingertips, the skin already breaking. Bad habit, it relieves some of the stress. How could he do this? How could he waltz back into my life and want to see me?   
I look around my room and my attention goes to my closet. Where the coke would be kept at this very moment. It takes one moment of weakness for an addict to relapse, Dan is not my weakness. He isn’t kryptonite. He’s a sad man who did sad things.  
I stand up and walk back out to the living room. Thankful to see Brendon still sitting there. “Brendon? Please don’t let me be alone. I don’t want- I can’t be alone again. It’s like this urge to just dive into any drug in my reach and I just-“ I take a deep breath and close my eyes, careful not to have a panic attack. I feel arms wrap me into a tight hug and I know it’s him.   
I’m thankful it’s him.


	6. If I Needed Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day seven of being sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really not too sure how to feel about this chapter?

Loneliness.  
It’s an empty feeling. Like falling down a bottomless wishing well or wearing a sleeping mask and trying to find your way around the country.  
—  
Day seven of being sober.  
I can’t tell if every day it gets worse, or better. If I’m being honest I think it’s both. Some days are better than others. Some are mediocre. And others I completely lose sight of the reason for doing all of this.  
It sucks because even though I want to get better part of me still wants to feel high. I hate wanting it. I hate wanting to rely on it.  
Starting out I always thought I could control it. Obviously I can’t, I know that now. We are never our own person. We aren’t our own selves.  
I’ve spent my life turning to drugs or booze when life got the slightest bit hard. Or so I wouldn’t have to care for someone (anyone) who couldn’t care for me. Just for it to come back and get me in the end.  
It’s a huge circle and somehow I’m backed in a corner.  
we aren’t our own selves.  
—  
“-and how long has this addiction gone on?” The interviewer- Kelly, asks.  
“I don’t have an exact date, but since my younger years. Teens.” I shrug and take a sip of my water.  
“How did you hide it that well from the world for so long?”  
“Was it really hid that well? Certainly the world had it’s doubts. I’ve never denied my addiction. I’ve never mentioned it, either. I was never asked. I don’t lie, Ms. Wellfielde. I just don’t give out information when not asked to do so.”  
Writing something down, she nods. Maybe the answer I gave her wasn’t what she was searching for. Of course not, it never is.  
“And now that you’re starting your cleanse, how are you coping?” She questions and I feel put on the spot. How am I coping?  
“… I guess I’m not. I’m barely managing. I’m surviving. With addiction, comes a lot of moments where you wonder ‘does it matter if I just have one hit?’ Or ‘it won’t kill me to cut a thin line for myself’ but, it does. And, it will. I’m not sure if anyone dealing with this sort of thing really… copes. I think when someone you care for dies, you grieve and spend the rest of eternity coping. But with addiction you spend eternity surviving. Hoping the hardships will wash over you like you’re made out of rubber.” I take a deep breath and look around the room. It’s so weird, feeling so uncomfortable in my own house. This isn’t really a home, though. I’ve realized that.  
“So, how are you surviving, Mr. Ross?” She rephrases. I knew she would. Everyone wants to know.  
“I have no family. And my ‘friends’ just cheered me on during my using. I would say Brendon might be the only one getting me through. He’s like… an addiction sponsor, except he’s never been addicted.” I hope he doesn’t hate me for mentioning his name. Or feel like I’m relying on him, I’ve learned not to rely on anyone.  
.”And once you’ve gotten to the point where you don’t need Brendon anymore, what are your plans?” I don’t need him… do I?  
“Well… I don’t necessarily think I need Brendon. Growing up in the household I was in, you learn that at the end of the day you’re the only one you can trust. The only one you need. I think he is making this process a hell of a lot easier, of course. But to say I need him means I can’t survive without him. I can survive without a lot of things. As far as my plans? I intend to finish out my modeling career and settle down. I’m only human, just as you are. Unless you’re not” I pause, smiling. I don’t want to seem like a robot.  
“-no but, I think I deserve a break.” Maybe deserve is too strong of a word…  
“Thank you, Mr. Ross. It’s been a pleasure.” She smiles and the cameras are cut.

Once everyone leaves I feel myself breaking, I find myself doing that a lot these days. I’ve come to the realization that even though I don’t rely on anyone, doesn’t mean I don’t rely on anything. I relied on drugs. To mute my feelings and turn me into some zombie. It’s like I’ve created some twelve step program in my head. I don’t hate it, though.  
“I really don’t know how you deal with it.” Brendon sits next to me, handing me a cup of coffee. He’s a saint, water doesn’t even compare to coffee.  
Setting down my water I accept the coffee and smile “deal with what exactly?”  
“Have your personal life invaded. I mean, I know it’s her job to ask questions but those were so deep. And your answers were incredible.”  
“Incredible?” I question “I give them answers they aren’t searching for. I wouldn’t call that incredible. They want juicy details. Like, how my father treated me. Or what my drug dealers name is- or was.” I shrug “they’ve learned that I don’t give that satisfaction.”  
“I find you inspiring, Ryan Ross. Except… at the beginning I thought you were a complete dick.” He laughs and he looks so amazing. Like he has no cares, he’s free.  
“A dick? Nono, that suits me well.” I take a sip of my coffee to hide my smile. I hate it.  
“It used to. But deep down you’re just some nice guy with dreams and aspirations. Could you actually be… human?” Brendon gasps, grabbing his chest.  
I can’t help but laugh. I feel like some teenage girl being hit on by the schools hottest jock.  
“Me? Human? Of course! Did you not hear my speech to Ms. Wellfielde? Brendon, you have wounded my frail heart.” I turn my head away from him, faking hurt.  
“Seriously. You have such a way with words, Ross. Consider me smitten.” He checks his watch (the smile never leaving his face. Cute.) “I have to get going, I have to meet with Z. I’ll see you later, just a call away if you find yourself needing me” and then he’s gone and I’m still sitting here smiling. I really do hate this.

Remember Ross, we can’t care for others if we don’t care for ourselves.  
We can’t care for others…


End file.
